I Chose My Path
by Satsuma Laroux
Summary: It's amazing how quickly life can turn a different direction in the blink of an eye. Terry learns to cope with that in this sequal to TR2: CoL. when he needs his past to save his life. Rated M for language, violence, and sexuality.
1. Chapter 1

Entry 1: Betrayed

She shot him. She'd been kissing him only a moment before and now… she actually shot him… He didn't think she had it in her…

He fell for what seemed like an eternity before he finally hit the ground. Pain seared through the side of his stomach in excruciating throbs as blood blossomed over him and the rocks he lay on. His eyes stared up at the perplexing roof above them as if he were dead. He coughed slightly, blood flooding his throat. He quickly personified the form of a dead man as he saw her gaze wash over him. If she knew he was not dead, she wouldn't miss his heart the next time. She _would _indeed succeed in killing him. He held his breath for what he viewed as forever. He could feel himself choking on the thick fluid pooling in his throat, choking him. He had the sudden impulse to cough it all up, but he knew that would be the end of him.

Finally she left. She gave him one last look with what could have been sorrowful affection in her eyes and he could have sworn a tear fell down her cheek. He laughed ironically, knowing that the tear was for him. _Women_, he thought.

He needed to leave. He'd die if he stayed here. He lay there on the rocky surface, weighing out his few options. He'd need to wait till her and her men were gone before leaving. But how long would that take? And he needed medical help A.S.A.P. He needed a doctor who wouldn't turn him back in to the authorities…

Finally, he figured it out. There was _her_. That was it! She was his last option. He hated to have to resort to her, but it was his last alternative. He prayed she was still in Tanzania. He _prayed_…

It was painful to move. He marveled at the fact he was capable of the simple movement he made; moving his hand to his pocket to withdraw his cell phone.

His hand fell to the ground again, his body giving in to weakness, so that he was holding it at arms length.

Thank God for voice-activated dialing and Verizon Wireless. That stupid television commercial ran through his head, that idiot's voice playing over and over: "Can you hear me now? Good!"

He flipped the phone open and murmured her name, just loud enough so that it could hear his voice.

"_Contact unknown_. _Please try again_."

Louder, he said her name again. But once more, the pain stifled his voice to a low grunt and he coughed up the blood that had seeped into his mouth.

"_Contact unknown_. _Please try again_."

Fuck voice-activated dialing. Fuck Croft.

He painfully resorted to searching through the contacts on his list to find her name, which seemed to take about an hour but was obviously much less. He found it and pressed the dial button. Bringing it to his ear, he could hear it ringing. He feared she wouldn't pick up, for it just kept on going. Finally:

"H-hello?" The feminine throaty voice was groggy and exhausted, as if just woken up.

"Mercedes… Is this Mercedes Dantê?"

"… Yes, this is she… To whom am I speaking? Did you want to make an appointment or is this an emergency?"

Her question surprised him but he then mentally waved it aside. He didn't have time. "It's me… Are you still in Africa?"

There was a pause in which he feared she had hung up. Then:

"…Jesus Christ, Terry… Is that you?"

He said another silent prayer and sighed in relief. "I need your help, Mercedes… Are you still living in Africa?"

"Yes, but…. Where are you? Are you still in prison? What's going on—?"

"_Listen_, Mercedes," he coughed, a scarlet ribbon of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Croft must have done major damage when the bullet hit him. _I_'_m going to die_, he thought. _I know it_._ I_'_m going to die_. "I need your help… I'm at Kilimanjaro Mountain. I need you to pick me up. There's not a lot of ti—"

"Terry, what's going on? When did you get out of prison?"

"Listen, if you want me to live long enough to tell you, then come fucking help me, all right!" That was Mercedes. Always the inquiring one. Always had to ask questions.

She seemed to be thinking for a moment before saying, "Where are you again?"

"On Kilimanjaro…You should be able to find me if you look…"

"I'll be there as soon as I can… And you better have a fucking good explanation for this."

His eyes were glazing. He was beginning to see nothing but darkness. He shook his head and he could see again, but it was as if he were looking through a foggy piece of glass. He couldn't let his sight fail him now. He needed to get down the mountain to where she would be able to see him. He wondered if that was possible…

He closed his phone and realized that the box was no where to be seen. He couldn't see them anywhere. He cried out angrily but ended up coughing up blood again in the process. He'd done all of this for nothing. He'd marauded all over goddamned China and Africa just to be shot and lose the box.

Fuck Croft.

Slowly and painfully, he tried to stand up. He did, but his legs were shaking so pitifully he had to lean his full weight on the cold, stone walls. He hobbled out of the cavern and into the night. Darkness surrounded him and it didn't help at all with his blurred vision.

He clenched the crevices in the rocky walls to hold himself up and descended the peak. He was only able to hold himself steady with one hand, for his other was at his side, trying as best it could to stay the blood flow.

Seconds seemed minutes, minutes seemed hours. He had no idea at which point of the peak he was at. He just knew that he needed to be in plain sight for her helicopter to pick him up. His vision had faltered one or twice and he had to pause for a minute until it returned. His breathing became labored until finally, his remaining strength permitted him to only crawl. Hearing had long since faded and at last the only thing that kept him aware of his existence was that he had an unwavering resolve to get as far down the mountain as possible.

After that, his vision left him too. No amount of frantic blinking brought it back.

He knew it had long since been an hour. It felt like a day to him. He gave up trying to keep track of time. He could feel that he had reached grass, so he was at least halfway to the native's village. How long had he been out there? 

He decided to take a rest. Only five minutes he promised himself. But how was he to know when the five minutes were up? He decided to rest his eyes along with his exhausted body. Closing them, he thought he heard the sound of a helicopter in the distance. He also thought he was hearing the sound of waves crashing against a white sandy beach. Hell, he could seehundreds of women in bikinis that were strolling along the shoreline, all with perfect bodies.

Surely it was the delirium kicking in on the former, and it was the latter which was reality?

"Terry… Terry, can you hear me? Damn it, he's going into shock! Jesus Christ, someone get me my bag! Now! Dammit, Terry, what the hell were you doing _this_ time?"

Terry opened his eyes but was forced to close them again as the invasion of a blinding light attempted to murder his eyes. The pain continued to sear through his body and he could feel himself convulsing. He felt two hands holding him down firmly as his body shook violently.

Slowly he opened his eyes and saw another different pair gazing down at him, worry etched in their acid green color...

He closed his eyes and fell unconscious once more.

He woke up several hours later on an army cot. His shirt was off and a large white bandage was taped to his side where the bullet had entered. He groaned miserably as the excruciating pain returned. His hands grasped the side of the cot as he tried to suppress the throbbing.

"So… You pissed someone else off then, huh? What happened this time, Terry? Did you forget to repay a debt, like last time? Or did you piss of some wench by not calling her after you slept with her?"

He looked around swiftly at the origin of the feminine British accent. A stunning woman no older than twenty-five was sitting directly next to him on a folding metal chair. Blood covered the white tank top and khaki jeans she was wearing. He grimaced as he realized it was his.

"Something like that…" he replied, his voice hoarse. It hurt to talk.

"Your voice will be gone for a couple days. You were screaming like an idiot during the surgery. I didn't think to bring anything other than mild anesthetics with me. You're lucky I even had my surgery bag. It took me forever to find it."

"What time is it?" he croaked.

"Four thirty in the morning."

Terry nodded as best he could, for his body was still stiff. He knew that he was lucky to be alive. He could tell from the amount of blood on her clothing that he had lost a lot. O course… The bullet had probably penetrated a major organ, just as he'd thought.

They were sitting in a small tent. A desk was propped in a corner, a laptop and a can of Dr. Pepper on its surface. There was a pile of clothes near the tent flap, his among them.

"Where are we?"

Mercedes sighed and folded her slender arms across her chest. "We're in the middle of the tundra. We had to land in order to perform the surgery on you. So, we're camped out here till morning."

There was a silence that settled in the small room as she stopped talking. Though he had looked away from her, he could feel her cold eyes upon his face.  
"So…" she said, as if expecting him to tell her something. "What happened? I deserve to know, seeing as you forced me out of bed at two o'clock in the morning."

Terry didn't answer right away. When he did, his voice was grudging, like he didn't really care to tell her.

"Laura Croft."

"Ah. Croft…"

"To make a long story short, she got me out of prison so she could lead me on this damned field trip through China before leaving me to go and find Pandora's box—"

"Wait, wait, _wait_… _The _Pandora's box? You mean, the one where God gave the girl a box and told her not to open it and she—"

"—herself. Yes, can I finish, please?"

Mercedes raised an indignant eyebrow. "Fine. Go on."

"I followed her here, we kicked the bad guys' arses, I tried to get the box as payment for everything I had to put up with, and she shot me."

"Aha," Mercedes said, nodding in acknowledgement. She grinned mischievously at him suddenly. "So, uh… Where's the part in all of that when you slept with her? Or cheated on her…"

Terry shot her a nasty look before snarling, "I didn't sleep with her." He turned to stare at the canvas ceiling once more before regaining his composure and saying, "That was before all of this happened."

"Hmm," Mercedes murmured. "I already knew that… So you're telling me, that after all that time with her, you didn't sleep with her once?" Her gaze was astounded, as if what she was saying she surely couldn't believe.

"Yes, Mercedes," he said through gritted teeth. He sat up with a pained groan as the skin around his wound stretched. "That's _exactly_ what I'm saying. Why, are you surprised?"

The question was quite sardonic, she could tell, as she answered him with mirrored sarcasm. "Hell yes, I am! You, Terry Sheridan, who couldn't help sleeping with every girl that walked past you couple years back, didn't sleep with Laura Croft in the week you were with her when I _know_ you were _so_ tempted."

Terry grinned against his will, "Well… I did try…" He could tell she still wasn't too happy with him. He couldn't really see why she was mad at him. He had wanted something new. How could Mercedes have been mad at him for not wanting to hurt her feelings by not telling her?

His grin widened as he thought the sickly-funny thoughts that he knew weren't true. He glanced over at her. She was still beautiful as hell, just as he remembered. She had her long black hair in tropical style braids, like usual. Her eyes were a bright vibrant green; the result of a highly illegal, highly _dangerous_, black-market surgery so that she could see underwater and in the dark.

She used to be an underwater plunderer. She would dive underwater to sunken ships and collect valuables that the drowned or rescued passengers may have had in the ship. She'd even gone down to the Titanic after she'd first had it done. She made millions doing it. The surgical operation made it so that she didn't have to waste time wiping algae off of her goggles when she swam through tunnels or what not in the ships. She never had to blink anymore either and she loved the color it made her eyes…

Mercedes was now a black-market surgeon who performed the same type of illegal operations on people who wanted an extra advantage over their 'victims'. That's how Terry had met her, when he'd brought a "business partner" of his in to get an "iron-skeleton" in his hands and forearms (the bloke was a hit man, if he remembered right).

He and Mercedes had had an off-and-on relationship for almost three years. Eventually, she had caught him kissing another woman. The woman, who had actually come onto _him_ (she had obviously thought herself attractive because she dressed like so and strutted around with her breasts bulging out if her shirt), had wound up dead with a handgun wound to her forehead. Being a random whore without any listed or known family, she wasn't missed by anyone but her pimp, who Mercedes had paid off without trouble. She, for some reason, had merely kicked Terry out of her penthouse suite in Tokyo with a _very_ painful slap to the face.

He remembered the slap not hurting as much as the restrained tears in her eyes.

"What are you grinning about?" she suddenly asked indifferently, bringing Terry's mind back to the present. She was still sitting casually in front of him as if he were merely visiting for Sunday brunch.

Terry chuckled. "Good times," he replied acidly. "Just thinking about the good times."

"Feh," she smirked. 'What good times are _you_ referring to? If you're referring to _us_, I have no idea what you're talking about. If you think having sex a few times—"

"Great sex, thank you," he interrupted with a smirk. "And you know it was a lot more than just a few nights of sex. If it makes you feel any better, _I_ think of it that way—Ow! _SHIT_!"

Terry fell back down on the pillow with a cry as his wound seared with pain as the healing skin around it was stretched.

Mercedes sighed. She rolled her eyes as she stood and held him down to the cot. "Just rest for a while," she said, her tone of voice like honey gone bad, "You were just shot. People don't normally get back on their feet after a wound like that for a couple days at _least_. You're lucky to be conscious."

A surly look came over his face as he was told he'd probably be bedridden for a week. She stood up but didn't leave.

He looked and sucked in his breath as she bent over him as if she was going to give him a kiss. He thought he felt the color draining from his face.

But she merely whispered in his ear, her voice tickling his skin so that the hair on the back of his neck stood up, "Oh, and, no. That doesn't make me feel _any_ different about you and me. At _all_." She patted his cheek playfully. "Go to sleep."

He smirked at her. "Fine. Be in denial, then."

As she was leaving the tent, she called over her shoulder at him, "No, not in denial. Just in reality."

He awarded her smugness with one last smile before his body succumbed to sleep once more.


	2. Chapter 2

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you SO much to all of my reviewers! I REALLY appreciated them a lot! This story is probably going to a have a slower start than I had hoped for but it should still be fun to read, I'm hoping... Thanks again and please continue to review!**_

**Entry 2: I Feel So Enslaved**

Terry flew into a sitting position, throwing the sheet from his body. He was breathing heavily and he was covered in cold sweat. His eyes darted around the interior of the tent as he absorbed his surroundings once more. Great, he thought. Now he was going to have nightmares for the rest of his life of his ex-lover putting a bullet in his stomach. The pain he endured from the real version was enough to give anyone bad dreams.

It seemed to be just daybreak, for he could see a faint orange glow outside.

There was shouting and screaming echoing around the valley and it seemed to be coming from all around the tent.

A gunshot sounded just outside and someone suddenly burst inside, startling him and making him instinctively reach for his gun. It wasn't there, obviously, seeing as he'd been stripped of everything but his pants.

It was Mercedes, anyway. He relaxed, though not before she'd seen him jump at her entrance. She smirked mischievously. "Scare the shit out of you, did I? Well, I'm sorry. I have that effect on a lot of people."

Terry frowned as she hurried over to him and pulled him to his feet. He looked at her as if inquiring her sanity, for she seemed quite agitated and/or worried about something or another. That was thing about Mercedes. It was _very_ hard sometimes to read her emotions.

"What's going on?" he asked her. He had to raise his voice as he watched her rush around the tent, gathering her laptop and other items, for he heard the helicopter start up outside.

"The locals are pitching a fit about us being here. They say we're disturbing the god, or what not with our 'modern machines'." She tossed him a clean white shirt and his jacket. "Hurry up and get you're clothes on. We're leaving now. They're getting just a bit violent."

Terry heard another gunshot ricochet off something nearby. He quickly threw his clothes on and strapped up his boots. He found his gun holster laying nearby with his two handguns still fastened to it. He threw that on as well, but did so as they quickly ran out of the tent. Terry was still in excruciating pain which resorted him to _hobbling_ more so than running.

He saw natives running this way and that, throwing spears every which way at a random Caucasians. One nearly nailed Mercedes in the head, but she managed to expertly dodge it and also push Terry out of the way of another.

"Get in!" she shouted, shoving him towards the black helicopter. "Hurry!"

He ran up to the steps and slipped inside the flight cabin. She was right behind him. She threw herself down in a huff, clearly fuming. She said something (quite unpleasant, Terry presumed) in French as she observed two of her men being chased after by the local tribe.

"Go!" she ordered the pilot, emphasizing this by making a wild hand movement towards the ceiling. "Now!"

She put on a head-and-mouth microphone set and handed an identical one to Terry. He quickly did the same.

Mercedes leaned over and gazed intently out the window. "Idiots," she murmured, watching the rest of her men make fools of themselves below. She seemed not to care that a few were dying, but did more for the natives that her men were killing.

He felt his stomach jolt as they ascended into the hot, morning sky. He clutched the side of his stomach where his wound was so as not to let it hit the side of the door where the handle was.

"So, where are we going?" he shouted to her over the noise of the blades revolving above them.

"Back to the manor near Arusha. Why?" She grabbed a handle suddenly as the contraption gave a great lurch.

"Well," he began, but his hand suddenly shot up to grasp a handle above his head so he didn't fall over. " I figured you were going to dump me somewhere. I don't know…"

She smirked at him. "Not in the condition you're in, babe. I'm surprised you can walk."

Terry grinned back at her; grateful she wasn't going to abandon him when he had no place to go—again. "Me, too." He looked out the window at the landscape below him. He could see lions and wildebeest basking in the morning rays of the sun, while it wasn't too hot. "How long is it going to take to get there?"

"Not more than an hour and half. Why?"

"You sure aren't trusting. I just wanted to know."

She shrugged. "You're the one asking random pointless questions. Why does it matter what time we're getting there? You sound like a child when you ask questions like that…"

"Untrusting _and_ bipolar…" he added, smirking playfully at her.

Mercedes rolled her eyes and turned towards the window.

Terry did the same yet again. He wasn't really looking at the scenery anymore, though. He amazed even himself how quickly he could get over women. Not twenty-four hours ago, he had been confessing his love for Laura and nearly shoving his tongue down her throat. Now, he could care less for her, after what she did to him, the bitch. He had seriously underestimated her. He'd never underestimated anyone before. He was usually pure genius when it came to things like evaluating a person's threat level, _especially_ when it came to women. After all it was his specialty…

He didn't even see it coming…

Terry looked up at Mercedes again. She was still gazing out the window. The rising sun made her eyes glow with a sort of otherworldly light that took Terry's breath away. Even when she'd hit him across the face those two long years ago and threw him out the door… and then threw all of his things on top of him as he lay there in the hallway of the hotel, she'd never failed to look startlingly gorgeous.

She caught him looking at her and looked at him incredulously. "What do you want?"

He merely smiled softly, his eyes darkly mischievous. "Nothing," he replied calmly. "I've just missed you."

"Ha! You've _missed_ me?" she sneered. "Nice try."

"I have."

"Chh… Whatever. A grand says you didn't think about me _once_ while you were locked up. _Once_." She emphasized this by holding her hand out in front of his face with her index finger up. "Not until I called you, at least."

Terry's jaw dropped. "Of course I thought of you. I was arrested only six months after us. Why would you think I wouldn't have?"

Mercedes gave him one of her coldest looks. "Why _would_ you have? You were with Croft when you left the encampment."

He couldn't find anything to say to that. It was true. He and Lara had been together when he'd abandoned his services. He _had_ thought about Mercedes though. He really had. And he _had_ missed her, too.

"So, you're not going to believe me, huh?"

"If you can prove it to me, I might."

"If I can _prove _it to you? How the hell do I do that?"

"Don't be an dumb-ass while you're staying at my place— and try and show me that you're grateful for me coming to pick your sorry ass up. I almost didn't, you know."

"But you did," he said slyly. "And it's because you still love me."

Terry nearly saw her jaw drop with shock. He had to restrain himself from grinning in triumph. She quickly looked away again and shook her head, muttering something about some "full-of-himself idiot who need to grow up."

After several minutes had passed, he nodded off, his face against the window. The heat of the African sun instigated a flurry of dreams that flew through his mind, one never quite finishing before a new one arrived.

"Hey, you bum. Wake up."

As the harsh words woke him, he felt a warm, soft hand on his arm. His body tingled with the feel of her fingers as he opened his eyes.

The helicopter had landed in front of a great manor. It had a great sophisticated elegance to it that strongly reminded him of England.

"Wow," he groaned as he stood and stretched, much like a lazy cat might do. He felt Mercedes gently nudge him out the ope.a&g hatch. His feet hit the hard ground with a thud and he stepped babK to view the elaborate home more intricately.

The roof had slightly gothic points to them as they peaked high up from their origin. The dark grey brick enhanced the home's foreboding image. Diligently trimmed shrubs and flower bushes formed a garden pathway to the entrance.

"Well, I see you're still managing to obtain you cake and eat it too," he complimented her as she jumped down beside him.

"With extra frosting," she said proudly. "Come on. We need to change your bandages."

She lightly smacked his shoulder and commandingly led him to the front entrance. A keypad and card swipe was installed next to the immense front doors. She swiftly withdrew a thin plastic item that resembled a credit card and slid it through. She followed this action with a four-digit code that she punched into the keypad then proceeded enter.

The doors opened with a creaking sound that resonated around the vast antechamber.

Terry let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. "Still filthy rich, too. Well, kudos to you."

"Why thank you," Mercedes replied. She grinned sardonically as she gestured towards a hallway to their left. "Your room is that way. Let's get your bandages changed so I can get you out of my hair for five minutes."

Terry rolled his eyes with a smirk of admiration. She'd done quite well since the last time they'd seen each other. Apparently she _was_ still a black-market surgeon, and getting quite a lot of business, by the looks of it.

The next room she led him into was quite diminutive, compared to the rest of the house, but still pleasing to look at. He folded his arms as his eyes scanned the bedchamber. It was decorated with relish, just like all the other rooms. Silk curtains were shut on a wide window. They matched the bed sheets and pillowcases. Their deep scarlet color was accented with gold embroidery.

It was well furnished, to boot, complete with an antiqued cherry wood armoire and writing desk.

"Wow," Terry said again. "Nice crib. So, uh, this is where I'll be sleeping then?"

Mercedes nodded. She pointed to a door that stood next to the armoire in the corner. "The bathroom's in there. There's a shower, a sink, and a toilette. There should be a towel on the counter." She turned and said something in Swahili to a servant, whom had followed them in and now stood in the doorframe. In his arms were Terry's bloodstained shirt and his sunglasses. Mercedes seemed to be instructing him on what to do with his few belongings.

The Tanzanian man proceeded to set them on a black leather armchair near the window. He bowed to Mercedes and left.

Terry's eyebrows rose, clearly impressed with the respect demanded of the servants of the household. Clearly, Mercedes was a figure of great importance and authority in this region of Tanzania.

She closed the door behind him and turned back to Terry. Pointing to the bed, she ordered him, "Take your shirt off and lay down."

His eyebrows were now raised as far as his brow would let them ascend. His eyes were wide in staged shock as he looked at her and said, "Well, you seemed to have forgiven me quickly. I expected it to take you at least a couple days before you—"

A large pillow connected with his head. "So I can change your bandages, idiot!"

Terry could see a small smile playing at her lips however as he proceeded to follow her instructions. He sat on the surface of the bed and stared up at her.

She sat beside him and ran her fingers over the skin around the bandages. Her touch was slightly cold but it took all the strength he had to keep himself from trembling.

"Well, it's not infected, so that's good. Here, lay down. I need your skin to be tight for me to do this without it hurting… too much." Mercedes' hand came to rest on his chest as she lightly pushed him onto his back. She took his hand in hers as an anchor to keep him from yelling from the pain.

She peeled the bandage back and Terry gripped her hand in a splintering grasp. She didn't flinch however and continued her work. She took a bottle from her pocket. The liquid contained in it was clear and thin. Terry immediately realized what it was and sucked in his breath.

"Squeeze my hand," she ordered him calmly.

He did so as the pain exploded in him. His body seemed to fragment in agony while the alcohol killed the bacteria in the wound.

"So how was prison?" she asked him. She was trying to keep his mind off the pain. A smirk wound its way across her face as she asked the abstract question.

"Wonderful," he growled, his teeth clenched together. He still had her hand in his iron grip. "Everyone was great. They made me feel welcome soon as I got there. _Real _nice blokes. And they were all innocent, too. They told me."

Mercedes smiled derisively at his comment. She taped a new bandage on him and murmured, "Mmmhmm… I'm sure they were. Didn't get gang raped, did you?"

Terry rolled his eyes. He was still holding her hand and he didn't mind one but. He stared into the electric green orbs that were her eyes and smiled softly. He sat up slowly and kissed the back of her hand. "Thank you."

She slowly withdrew her hand but her smile didn't waver. Her eyes remained locked onto his as she whispered the words, "Your welcome…"

They sat there for a minute or so before Mercedes got to her feet. "Dinner is soon, if you're interested. You can sleep if you want though. You are probably still really tired, so go ahead. You can eat when you want. I don't care."

He shrugged indifferently, wishing her hand were still holding his. "Nah, I'll be there. How long?"

"Maybe ten minutes."

"Okay, then. See you in ten."

Mercedes remained smiling at him. "I missed you, too, babe."

Terry grinned in response, that silly boyish grin that had made Mercedes melt those couple years ago. "I know," he said.

She rolled her eyes and bent to kiss his cheek. Her lips lingered there for a moment. Terry savored the feel of her lips on his skin. He'd forgotten the velvety smooth feel of them.

As she slipped out the door, he sighed and lay back down. He'd nearly forgotten this dangerously beautiful woman who he'd been so much in love with not long ago. Again, it surprised him how quickly he could get over women. He didn't know whether it was a curse or a blessing. Perhaps a little bit of both. Being back in Mercedes' presence was intoxicating and it made the anger that should have been directed at Laura Croft easier to forget.

"Fuck Croft…" he muttered, closing his eyes.

"Seriously, this is excellent. What is it?"

Mercedes seemed to enjoy the question, almost as if it humored her. She popped her fork into her mouth and coughed scathingly. "I told you, you wouldn't eat the rest of your dinner."

Terry, whose fork was nearly in his mouth, set it down slowly, curiosity etching his face. "What is it?" he repeated, an ominous edge to his voice.

"Baboon meat."

Terry brought his napkin to his mouth and gagged and coughed as Mercedes' melodious laughter echoed around the courtyard. They had decided to eat outside and enjoy the lovely one-hundred-and-eight degree weather at a small, round table in the center of the garden. They each had a glass of wine set for them and a plate of the most bizarre foods Terry had ever seen.

"That's a little on the disgusting side," he informed her, shoving his plate away from him. "I was expecting something a little less… _local_…"

She laughed that ringing, harmonious laugh again as she sipped her wine. "Were you, now? What, were you expecting escargot and sushi?"

He groaned at the mention of the last one. "Hell no. I've had enough Asian food to last me a good decade. And snails don't sound much more appetizing. You've got a really odd taste in food, Mercedes…"

"I know. That's what I get for being brought up as a rich snob, right?"

"I don't think baboon meat is classified in the 'delicacy' section in the cook books."

It was nice, sitting there. Together. It had been nearly two years since they had been talked and not fought. That phone call he'd received three months into prison hadn't been exactly one of his most memorable conversations with her.

"_Yes?"  
"Terry Sheridan. So you landed your ass in prison, eh? You're not too brilliant, are you?"  
"Mercedes?"_

"_At least you memory's still intact."_

"_Oh my god…"  
"Yah, nice to hear your voice, too, dear."_

"_How'd you know I was here?"_

"_I stalked you… Dumb-ass, I have my sources. I keep tabs on people."_

"_Ah. So… how've you been?"_

"_Coping…"_

"_Ah…. Great. So have you, ah… called to bitch me out?"_

"_If that's what you want, sure. I don't mind a bit."_

"No, y_ou wouldn't… So what did you _really_ call for?"_

"_Didn't I tell you I'd call you eventually?"_

"_Um, six months after you kick me out?"_

"_Sure why not? And I wanted to laugh at your dumb ass."_

"_Of course you did."_

"_Well you seem to be having a piss-poor time so I'm going to go. Have fun with your prison bitches, babe."_

"_Wait… 'Sadees don't go…"_

"_I've got somewhere I need to be. See you around, eh?"_

"_Mercedes…"_

"_Bye, Terry."_

"…_bye…"_

Just to be able to sit there and laugh with or at the other was nice for both of them, especially after that conversation. Sitting there together, they could, if only for a moment, forget what had happened between them. They were friends once more.

For nearly an hour they sat there, just talking about random things. The conversation drifted from food, to work, until finally it landed on why Terry had left his duties and consequentially landed himself in prison. When she inquired about it, his smirk receded as if melting from his face. "I bitched out. Simple as that." He shrugged the subject away and downed the rest of his wine.

Mercedes raised an eyebrow. "How did you do that?"

He gazed sternly into her deep, bright eyes and realized she wasn't going to let the topic go. "I was tired of things always going someone else's way," he sighed. " It was _always_ someone else's way. I couldn't take it anymore. I … I seriously didn't care that I left them there. I was sick of it, Mercedes."

Her brow furrowed in a sort of sympathy. She knew he hated being told what to do. He always had. "Well, you did what you had to."

He made a snide noise as he stared off into the distance. "Yah? And look what it landed me: a gunshot wound, Croft leaving me _again_, a lifetime hatred of Chinese food, and two years of my life gone to waste."

The table was quiet after that. Mercedes could tell that Terry didn't want to talk any more. She just sat there silently across from him and stared through the glass surface of the table.

Finally, she stood up and attempted to leave. But Terry grabbed her wrist and got to his feet, staring deep into her eyes again.

He could tell it gave her chills when he did that. He was _immensely _close and he was terrified he would kiss her.

"Thank you," was all he said, however.

She grinned awkwardly and backed away slowly, easing herself back to a comfortable distance. "I wasn't going to leave you there, babe. Even if you _are_ a self-righteous prick, you'll still always be my _favorite _self-righteous prick."

He let out a low hollow laugh and rested his hand at the bend of her neck and shoulder. His thumb affectionately traced her velvet smooth jaw line before he turned away and walked inside, leaving her to herself.


End file.
